Unnatural
by Darktales
Summary: A coffin only holds so much air... So Dean had better dig fast and pray that what came back was really his brother... SFTCOLARS story.
1. Chapter 1

This is not a deathfic. It is a limpSam/angstingDean. No Wincest. Please let me know if you think I should continue this story. Thank you Faye Darthmouth for betaing. I tried to use your suggestions.

'**Unnatural'**

**Chapter 1**

He stood alone in the cemetery.

The sky above was overcast, an unbroken canvas of gray contrasting the almost luminous green of the grass beneath his boots. Cold granite loomed in his peripheral vision as a bone numbing chilliness bit through his coat, drawing goose bumps over his flesh in stark contrast to the single hot tear that burned a path down his cheek. Somehow it had escaped from his soul.

Rain was forecast, not that it mattered to the walking dead

- - - - -

Dean stood in front of the cold headstone and just stared. It wasn't supposed to be like this. He was supposed to save Sam. This? This what Sam had done? It was unnatural.

Big brothers were supposed to save little brothers. That was how it was supposed to go. Not the other way around. Not Sam dying for him.

_Dean! Sam's voice yelled, deep and terrified, as the creature lifted Dean by his throat and slammed him into the wall. His head rang. He actually saw stars… pretty… and then he was grabbed again. His chest exploded in pain. His shoulder pulled from its socket and then Sam was there. Somehow._

_His entertainment value exhausted, Dean was dropped on the ground. And now it was Dean's turn to yell. SAMMY!_

_One quick movement and it was over._

_For Sam._

_A slash of claws across a soft abdomen._

_For one brief moment time stood still._

_Sam's eyes locked on Dean's in silent apology and then without even a whisper of sound, he dropped… _

_The rest was a blur. Rage overtook pain. Grabbing the shotgun he'd lost, Dean was lethal. But it was too little. Too late._

_Sammy._

So now Dean stood, battered and bruised, one arm in a sling, stitches across his forehead, broken ribs taped while his brother. His baby brother. Lay beneath him in a dirt-filled grave. The broken hunter knew he'd have to come back later. There were things to be taken care of. Burned.

His brother deserved to rest in peace.

It had been a long week. The longest in his life since he regained consciousness in the hospital to a world that Sam was no longer a part of.

Three days later he had been discharged with a battery of restrictions and instruction but all of it was muted by the silence of his brother's death. He nodded at all the right times, signed all the right things. Got a room.

He took too many pills and wondered why he even woke up.

For two more days he lived in drugged denial. Drinking painkillers down with beer, passing out and waking up in his own puke… forever disappointed when he woke.

And then yesterday the hunter finally stared the walking dead in the face as he took in his own reflection for the first time in six days, and realized he had forgotten something very important. Sam.

He had to take care of his brother, one final time.

So today Dean finally made it to his brother's resting place to wait for nightfall. When darkness came, he would dig his brother up. And burn him.

…_You're my brother. I'd die for you…_

Six words.

A promise.

A promise fulfilled.

Now Dean stood alone.

Sighing heavily, the young man crouched down next to the grave and ran his fingers through the grass. It was cold, each blade biting a chill through is fingers and he shivered. Sammy hated being cold…

The kid lived in layers. And died in shreds.

Dean wanted to scream but there was no one to scream at.

He wanted to bleed but his wounds were already closed.

He wanted his brother back but Sam was dead.

Dead because he saved Dean's life.

A presence behind him made Dean huff as he straightened up to his full height. "You have got to be kidding me."

"You're not surprised to see me," the man commented. Not a question. A fact.

The distraught young hunter didn't answer. He didn't even have the drive to see what the man looked like, much less try to kill him. All that mattered was the man would have yellow eyes. Everything else was borrowed.

"You know this really pisses me off," the man continued and that surprised Dean. This time he cast a glance towards the demon-possessed man. "Him, being dead and all." The _thing_ elaborated. "I had such plans for that boy."

Dean rolled his eyes and turned away. "Sorry to disappoint you." Sarcasm dripped.

"This really is too bad," the man sighed and then shook his head. "And I was so looking forward to taking him from you. Watching you fight for him…"

Dean glared at the grave, his one good hand curling up tightly in a fist.

"You have been thus far entertaining."

"You never would have won." Dean growled, possessive of his brother even after death. _Especially after death._

The demon in the man-suit turned and looked good and hard at the young hunter. He appraised him and then a feral glint lit his yellow eyes. "You really believe that don't you?"

"Nothing to believe," Dean asserted bitterly. "He was my brother."

"Ah yeah," the thing mused, "there is that bothersome 'was' thing again. I really hate past tenses," he wrinkled up his nose disdainfully; "it takes all the fun out it."

"What do you want?" the hunter grit out, fighting a suicidal impulse to tackle the creature standing next to him. But he couldn't do that to his brother. Dean had to live so that Sam's death meant something. So that _Sam_ meant something.

His brother deserved to be remembered.

"I've come to give you a gift," the man said, a toothy smile shark-like.

"I don't want anything you have," Dean snorted. He wanted to turn and walk away but he couldn't leave his brother alone with this thing – not even now. He stopped and turned around, his words acidic. "Oh wait. I do want something. How about your death? Can you give me that?"

The creature chuckled. "You really are amusing, aren't you? But seriously, my petulant boy, I'm here to give you back your brother." He seemed to relish the horrified and stricken look on the young hunter's face.

"What?" Dean was stunned. He shook his head vehemently. "Nuh uh. That's not how it works. What's dead stays dead!"

The possessed man's smile grew feral. "Not any more."

And then, before Dean could stop him, the demon fled the man and dove into the fresh dirt of Sam's gave.

"NOOOO!" Dean yelled trying to reach out and grab the black mist. But he couldn't hold the air, no more than he could a life. He fell to his knees, his head shaking, hot tears burning unbidden down his rough cheeks. "Please God… no…" As much as he loved his brother and missed him, this wasn't natural. And even if the demon could bring Sam back – would it be his brother or something else, a darkness wearing a Sammy suit?

For a few moments, nothing happened. The previously possessed and now completely bewildered man struggled to his feet. Dean ignored him. And then the demon was back, quickly regaining the body he had just left.

Dean looked up at him, his face seething with hatred and cursing his own inability to do anything right now.

The demon smiled down at him as he wiped his hands off in his pants. "Well that's done."

"What did you do?" the hunter growled as he slowly stood.

"I did what I said." His smile became more toothy, if possible, "I brought your brother back." He glanced down at his watch. "You'd better dig fast though. Coffins don't hold that much air you know." And then he walked away leaving a stunned Dean to stare after him.

Dean froze, his next breath catching in his throat as he just stood there. He shook his head. _No. This can't be real. This is a dream. No. Not a dream. A nightmare. One big freaking nightmare… I'll open my eyes and everything will be all right. Sammy'll be yapping at me about something and _–

And then the demons words sunk in.

…_Coffins don't hold that much air you know…_

Beneath his feet, Sammy was suffocating. Dying… again.

"Not on my watch," Dean growled already running for the Impala.

He needed a shovel, because regardless of his protests, he was not willing to let his brother die in a grave. And if Dean's worse fears were right, and what had come back wasn't Sam, he'd deal with it then.

But for now, he had a little brother to dig up.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Wow. What a response! I hope this story lives up to your expectations.**

**'Unnatural'**

Chapter 2 -

_Dig._

_Dig._

_Dig._

Dean dug as if the devil himself was after him.

Maybe he was.

His injured shoulder protested but the frantic digger forced himself past the pain – one agonizing shovelful at a time.

_Dig._

_Dig._

_Dig._

Sweat beaded Dean's forehead and dripped off the tip of his nose, slamming into the hard packed dirt – his brother's tomb. His eyes burned from the salt when he tried to wipe the perspiration from his face and he blinked past blurred vision.

He could not fail this.

He would not fail.

_Dig._

_Dig._

_Dig._

His muscles burned as he thought about his brother opening his eyes to complete darkness –

The horror of blackness. Suffocating. Overwhelming.

Claustrophobia. Extreme. Paralyzing.

Helplessness. Dean helpless six feet above; Sam helpless six feet below. Dirt threatening a lifetime of separation.

The hunter ground his teeth and forced tiring muscles to work faster. To dig harder. His body quivered under the strain and his soul fractured at the perceived betrayal. He would not lose Sam again. He. Would. Get. His. Brother. Out.

_Dig._

_Dig._

_Dig._

Morbidly Dean wondered how long it would take Sam to realize he was in his grave –

He had to force himself to breath, too easily imagining his brother's sheer terror…

The dank smell of dirt filled his nose. Cold. Hard packed. Black earth. _Could Sam smell the grave?_

And bugs. _Oh God_. Bugs.

A week in the ground. Decay brought bugs.

Nausea threatened and Dean fought for self control. _Please, God, if there is one – oh God…_

Dean took a deep breath to steady his unraveling mind. He had to focus and stay focused. Think about Sam. Not about the grave. Especially not about the grave.

Sam.

_Dig._

Would Sam remember anything from the past week?

_Dig._

Would he remember he was dead?

_Dig._

Where he was?

_Dig._

Who he was?

_Dig._

Would he remember Dean?

_Dig._

Would he still be Sam…?

That last question stuttered his progress and for one agonizing moment he could not bring himself to dig.

Sam had died. Sam was dead.

This wasn't right. His own words haunted his every moment – _what's dead should stay dead._

But Dean hadn't been dead. Not really. Merely mostly dead.

If there really was such a thing…

And then a fleeting memory of a flash of dimples, an easy smile, puppy dog eyes – and he dug even faster, driven to make up the precious moments he had just lost. He could deny Sam, _nothing._

What's dead should stay dead. As long as it wasn't Sam.

_Dig… dig… dig…_

Around him the cemetery was shrouded in silence but Dean afforded no luxury of time to wonder why.

_Dig… dig… dig…_

Oh God. Let him get to Sam in time.

A sudden wave of vertigo dropped Dean to his knees and he swore loudly. This couldn't be happening. He wouldn't lose his brother to his body again. NO. Using the shovel as a prop, the hunter forced himself to his feet. The world swam sickingly around him and he shut his eyes and swallowed hard.

"Please…" he whispered, anguished, although there was no one to hear his plea. "Please, I have to save him."

A motion over his shoulder and he cried out in an unexpected relief – it was Bobby.

_Oh God. Thank you._

"Dean?" Bobby's voice was forever gruff, tinged with wary concern, "What are you doing?"

Dean had no idea what the other hunter was doing here, but right now he didn't care, and he clutched at Bobby like a lifeline that had been thrown.

"_Bobby_," Dean gasped the name, "you have to help me – we have to dig!" To punctuate the statement, he started again. Or at least he tried to but the shovel was suddenly too heavy, his body having decided enough was enough.

"We don't dig in daylight," the man glanced around the cemetery significantly, "you know that."

"He's alive!" Dean cried out, tears of frustration burning his face as he tried again to dig. He continued on to make the older hunter understand. "That yellow eyed sonofabitch brought him back but we have to dig him out."

The weight of Bobby's incredulity was his undoing.

"_Please, Bobby, please! _We have to dig him out!_"_

The hunter must have read something out his desperation or maybe he was just humoring him, either or Dean didn't care as long as the older man helped. And he did.

Jumping down into the hole next to Dean, Bobby gently took the shovel for him and then pushed him out of the way. Wordlessly the man begin to dig.

_Dig._

_Dig._

_Dig._

Dean had to help. Dropping to his knees, he gasped in pain, sucked it up and then used his hands to try and move the soil, his sling buried somewhere under moved earth. The ground felt cold –

Sammy would be cold.

But he'd be alive. Everything else could be dealt with afterwards.

_Dig._

_Dig._

_Dig._

Bobby dug with quick efficiency and when his shovel struck something hard, Dean knew there was a God. He'd never have gotten to Sam as fast.

_Dig._

_Dig._

_Dig._

And then slam… slam… slam…

The digger slammed the shovel against the casket.

_An axe_, Dean thought, _we need an axe!_ And then remembered he had brought one and thrust his body over the side of the grave, desperately reaching for the axe –

"Bobby, here!" he yelled already tossing the other tool to him.

The older man dropped the shovel, grabbed the axe and swung it hard. The lid splintered and Dean was scrambling towards it.

Dropping the axe, Bobby dropped to his knees and started pulling at the damaged lid. Too close now to risk anything if Sam as alive.

Coughing and sobbing…

A plaintive cry…

_Who's?_

It didn't matter because as Bobby pried at the lid, Dean saw his brother's face for the first time in a week and then turned his head to the side and threw up.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry for the delay but my life kinda fell a part for a little bit. I rewrote this chapter after I had a lot of trouble trying to make the original work. I think this works better. Thanks for Faye for being patient with my previous drafts. I really tried but I just couldn't fix it the right way so I've totally changed it. I hope this works better. This is unbeta'd. I wanted to post the chapter before I lost my nerve. So I'm sorry if it ends up disappointing you.**

**Unnatural**

**Chapter 3**

Sam's face was blue. A horrible, bloated blue and as Dean retched, hot tears streaked down his face and he shook his head in disbelief.

_What had he done?_ He'd desecrated his brother's grave…

_How stupid had he been to believe the demon?_ Demon's lie…

The demon hadn't brought Sam back. Sam was still dead.

"Damnit", he gasped, "GOD DAMNIT!"

He felt a hand on his shoulder and shrugged it off. He didn't want Bobby's comfort or sympathy. He wanted his brother. He wanted Sam.

"He said…" Dean sobbed; his voice desperate and broken. It felt like he'd just lost Sam again. _Oh God, how much more of this can I take?_ "He said he brought him back…"

Bobby moved away from him and the distraught hunter knelt down next to the open casket and buried his face in his hands. "I'm sorry, Sam. I am so sorry."

"Not your fault," the older hunter tried to comfort. "Sam wouldn't want you to think that."

"Sam… wouldn't _want_ to be dead!" Dean shot back angrily even as he asked himself why he was yelling at Bobby. He looked at the other man and this time his voice was pleading. "I want him back, Bobby, I really do."

And as if in answer to that very question, Sam suddenly gasped loudly and his eyes shot open!

Startled and no little unsettled, Dean jumped back and stared, unable to believe what he was seeing. He heard Bobby's, "Oh my God," somewhere to the side of them.

Sam coughed harshly for a few moments, his chest rising and falling like someone who had just run a marathon, before he seemed to get the hang of breathing again. He looked around, his head turning slowly as he blinked lazily without really seeming to focus on anything; incomprehension warred with indifference for precedence on his still too blue young face. But with every breath he took, it seemed to become easier and his face rapidly changed to a rather sickening shade of grey. But grey was better than blue.

His eyes finally locked on Dean - really saw Dean – and the older brother felt the breath still in his chest.

"Sammy?" he whispered, desperate for this to be real but terrified it wasn't. Sam blinked. Slowly, carefully, Dean crouched. He wanted to reach out and grab his brother, to feel him alive beneath his fingers but he couldn't yet. He was too afraid. Bobby shifted behind him. "Is it you? Really you?"

A thin smile twisted the grey lips but the young man didn't say anything and something twisted inside Dean. All his fears about something else coming back in place of Sam threatened to suffocate him –

"Breathe," Bobby hissed beside him and Dean felt a hand on his back. He shrugged it off.

"Sammy?" he repeated and blinked furiously as his vision blurred. Not now damnit. Not when he needed to drink this in. Not when he needed to see more than he needed to breathe –

"Dean?" the word was hoarse and barely a whisper but Dean heard it and his heart leapt. His brother was alive. Really alive!

Smiling broadly, Dean extended a hand, "Only on the good days."

His attempt at lightness seemed lost on Sam who just stared up – from his casket – at the offered assistance and then slowly, with the coordination of a newborn calf, he clasped his brother's outstretched hand.

Dean gasped at the coldness of Sam's touch… and the strength as his younger brother cautiously sat and then tried to stand.

Sam listed and dropped back but then Dean was in the casket next to him. "S'kay, Sammy," he promised, "I got ya."

The younger man bowed his head for a moment breathing heavy and seeming taxed by the mere effort of sitting up. Dean looked up at Bobby for help. He didn't even have to ask as the older man reached into the grave towards them.

"C'mon, Sam," Bobby grunted, "let's get you out of there."

Between Bobby and Dean – and what little help Sam could offer – they got the young man out of his grave.

Dean turned around and stared at the now empty casket, his soul shivered. It had been too close. Way too close. Sam had been dead for frickin' sake and he vowed it was something he could never go through again.

"Dean," Bobby's voice was a welcome distraction from the darkness of his brother's grave and he looked at the older man as Sam hung heavy, his body too weak – from being dead – to support his weight yet. "We need to get Sam somewhere warm."

It was only then that Dean realized just how cold his brother was. Sam's body felt like ice and it propelled him into action. Awkwardly, he shrugged out of his coat, trying not to jostle his brother too much, and then wrapped it around Sam's shoulder. A slight raise of a head was recognition and Dean took what he could, knowing it was all his brother could give right now. And then he and Bobby carefully, but quickly, moved their precious burden away from the grave.

Around them the world was quiet and empty, as if they were somehow being shielded but Dean didn't stop to wonder about that. He might later, but not now.

Now when he had just gotten his brother back from the dead.

Sam was asleep by the time they lowered him into the backseat of the Impala and Dean was ready to pass out. As the adrenaline rush of getting his brother back alive weaved out of his system, his myriad of ignored injuries took him down and if not for an intuitive Bobby's quick reflexes, the exhausted and hurting hunter would have done an embarrassing face plant. As it was, Bobby manhandled him into the backseat with Sam, told him to stay there and then got behind the wheel of Dean's precious baby.

How he got the keys out of Dean's pocket was beyond Dean.

However as they drove away from the cemetery and towards the promise of a soft motel bed, to a safe rest under the scrutiny of a man who'd become a second father, Dean couldn't begrudge Bobby whatever method he'd used. And in the end, he got to lay in the backseat with his brother. With his alive and breathing brother. And to Dean that was worth what it cost – whatever that price might be. The demon hadn't really named the figure…

Too tired to think, Dean closed his eyes, wrapped his arms around his cold brother and let sleep finally take him down.

In the morning, they'd have to deal. But for now, they'd just be.

To be continued


End file.
